


I Can Dish It Out, But I Can't Take It

by FallenPissyBird



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Bonding, Family Feels, Grief/Mourning, I AM SO SORRY I JUST LOVE ANGST, M/M, Mental Anguish, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenPissyBird/pseuds/FallenPissyBird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian finds a worthy brother in the imbecile that is Todd, despite his previous presumptions of him. Jason is not as stupid as he exudes himself to be, and the youngest Robin finds himself able to talk to him of death and nightmares without finding judgement from the man.</p>
<p>But in their world, relationships are born to be broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Can Dish It Out, But I Can't Take It

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting on my computer for a while, decided to finish it up and post it because why not. I have nothing better to do with it.
> 
> Damian and Jason would be the coolest brothers, I mean Jason can take the snark that Damian dishes out on the daily, and Damian can understand the constant barrage of 'I died' reminders. So I wrote them bonding! (And then ruined it because haha why not I live off of pain.)
> 
> My tumblr is jayredwing, feel free to yell at me for writing this via an ask or message.

Why did it always have to rain during family reunions that Damian didn't want? The raindrops made fighting the infernal Al Ghul's even more of a nightmare, as he soon learned when the steady hum of falling water dampened the volume of his approaching grandfather. He felt the older man's elbow crack into the side of his head, throwing his hood off as the sword cut through his glove and started a streaming of red to make the water beneath him tinge in pinkness.  
  
"Robin!" His only ally cried out and heavy boots were evidently running over to him before a sharp laugh of a woman rang out. The following noise was a clang of metal against metal, meaning Hood had parried Robin's mother and was safe for the moment. But he was distracted from Damian, could not run to his aide.  
  
The younger tutted his tongue, a sound that would've surely been washed away by the carpets of water falling atop them had they not had communicators tucked against their ears. He didn't need assistance, he was able to hold off his grandfather on his own. He made that clear as he flipped out of the way of an oncoming sword strike, picking up his katana on his way as he landed perched on the wet rooftop. "Focus on your own battle, Hood." Robin scolded, as if he was the wiser of the two. Which he knew, of course, he was.  
  
Still, credit must be given where it was due, as Damian knew. In recent months, Todd had been showing great growth in his intelligence, and offering bits of knowledge and conversation to the youngest Wayne. It started with a simple encounter in the garage of the batcave, where Jason was cleaning up after Drake's messy work on Red Bird. Strange one, the second Robin. Some days he would show up to the manor in clothes stained with blood, cheek and chin unshaven, shoelaces on combat boots dangling untied by his feet. But he had this need to clean up after people, especially Drake, who would leave messes as they went about their lives. While Todd allowed his appearance to be one of a slob, his living quarters and the space around him was always so immaculate. A curiosity that drew Damian in, as they usually did, with the youngest Robin wanting an answer as to the cause.  
  
"Here to help?" The Red Hood had asked as he carried a crate of tools back to the storage space, and wiped some grease onto his pants instead of the rag slung over his shoulder. "Babybird has a way of spreading his mess as far as he can while he’s in a room."  
  
"Don't bother." Damian scoffed, sitting atop Jason's bike as if he had no need to ask. It earned him a sharp look from the gunman, one Damian chose to ignore out of the kindness of his own heart. "Cleaning, I mean. We have a butler for that."  
  
"Alfred is not just a butler, batbrat." Jason chuckled, the same kind of chuckle that Damian noticed would usually have a physical effect on Drake when he was in the vicinity. One from his chest, pushed out deep, a natural laugh that he shared only when he was at ease in a situation. Damian didn't know why he was at ease, they were the least acquainted in the family, and this could be a ploy to attack. Of course it wasn't, but he felt Todd should at least fear him a little!  
  
"Well it is still his job description, so while he may have more qualities than 'butler,' it is still his duty to be one." Damian spoke to the man as if he was an imbecile, which curiously did not infuriate Jason, who was so prone to rage. It made him smile, all lazy and relaxed as he began wiping down Red Bird from excess grease.  
  
"And there’s ‘killer’ in my job description. But lucky for you, I'm not killing now, so Alfie doesn't need to be cleaning now." He spoke easy, glancing up at the youngest Robin as he cleaned. "Something I can help you with? You aren't the type to seek someone out for idle chit chat, especially me."  
  
"Yes." Damian said, readying his lips to ask about the cleanliness trait Jason possessed, but something else came out instead. Not even a question really. One he had given little to no thought over in the past. "You were there for the fight on Apokolips."  
  
Jason stalled in his actions, teal eyes falling to his hands and away from Damian, a shift in demeanor obvious now. Todd was one of the worst in the family at concealing emotions, you could always tell what he was feeling just by looking at him. Bruce had always called it passion. Damian called it foolish. "Yeah, I was there." He spoke, voice coming from his throat now, as if he was preparing to close himself off and run should the need arise. There were his walls. But why were they showing now? "What about it?"  
  
"Why?" Damian continued, eyes boring into the adopted Wayne as if he could watch his bones under all the leather, flesh, muscle, blood. As if the truth of the question would be carved there if it didn't leave his lips.  
  
"Whadya mean, why?" Jason didn't look up at him, continued cleaning Red Bird until she was pristine. And even then, he didn't stop cleaning. "I did it because," a pause, as if he was trying to concoct the reason on the spot, "cause your family still needs you, demon."  
  
"My family." Damian repeated, narrowing his eyes at the man as if it would lift his gaze. It didn't. Jason just turned and went to the trash to throw the rag out. "You mean our family."  
  
"Yeah, that's what I said." Jason scoffed, defensive bite hiding in his words, a bit of teeth flashing in each syllable as if that would make the stubborn bird back off.  
  
"No, you said 'your' family. Not 'our' family, not 'my' family." Damian rolled the words around his mouth, eyes watching the way Todd's muscled bunched and rolled under his skin, like an animal wanting to get out of a situation and was weighing options- fight or flight. "Is this not your family, Todd?"  
  
"Alright Dr. Demon, get off my bike." Jason snarled, cutting the subject off before it could be explored further, stalking towards the motorcycle in a way that reminded Damian of a wolf hiding injury behind pride. "Slip of the tongue. Now, would you scat? I got shit to do, important shit."  
  
"Alfred said you were staying for-"  
  
"Change of plans." The imbecile cut him off, to which made Damian scrunch up his face in insult. He had been planning to adventure deeper in the topic, but now, he wanted to be rid of the failure Robin. So he let him go that evening, turning to storm back into the manor with an expression that the whole family knew well at that point, so they left him alone.  
  
However, it was that night that the second Robin changed in Damian's mind. It was a small change, but it was an impressive start for the boy who took months to warm up to his own father. He was up later than usual, lost in a drawing of his sleeping Titus, when he heard a noise on the roof. It was too heavy to be a bird, but too muffled to be a branch. And there was no alarm ringing to sound for an intruder, which meant whatever was up there had evaded the roof sensors. It piqued the youngest Robin's interest.  
  
He had an idea of the perpetrator before he was even in sight, the smell of cigarette smoke tickling his nose. He pulled himself out of his window and shimmied along the ledge before he was able to swing up and get to a good footing on the roof that wasn't as drastically slanted. It was there that he noticed the man sitting there, cigarette held between pursed lips, eyes following Damian as if he expected him. "Smoking on the roof Todd?" The sidekick sneered as if it was a filthy thing he had caught the man doing. "How old are you, 12?"  
  
The antihero laughed around his cigarette, the smoke bursting from his lips and hazing away in the heavy night air. "Nah." He breathed out the rest of the grey smoke as he pulled the cancer stick out of his mouth and let it dangle between his fingers. "But that was how old I was when I found this spot on the roof. There was this crow that would hang out here, and she kept setting the alarm off, so B turned off the sensor for this grid. Never turned it back on I guess."  
  
"A crow?" Damian scowled, standing there in his pajamas, arms folded over his chest. "Why would a crow hang out on our roof? And how do you know if it was even a crow? Could have been a raven."  
  
Jason laughed, not put off by the boy's insistent nature of challenging other people's knowledge. He just patted the spot next to him, not letting his gaze linger on Damian for too long. It was like he knew the boy would eventually give in after a few seconds and sit down next to the older man. Todd's arrogance knew no bounds. "I know my corvids, lil D. And she was here because I was leaving seed for her up here, so B would turn off the sensors." He explained, looking out across the yard at the lights spotting across the front landscape. His voice was relaxed again, letting Damian know that his walls were lowered again. But that just made the Robin boy wonder why he had them up in the first place.  
  
Still, Damian was a smart kid, and knew one of the best ways to make someone talk was to drape them in silence. He was quiet as he sat beside the second Robin, glancing over occasionally as Jason lifted the cigarette to his lips to inhale a lungful of nicotine. The quiet settled over them like a blanket, and while Damian thought it would make the vigilante uncomfortable enough to talk, make him squirm until he broke the silence with secrets, instead it was almost nice. Damian found his taut muscles began to melt, his arms uncrossed from over his chest, his posture slumped down in a steady release of tension. Something about the gunman's soft presence -- the awful stench of smoke and gunpowder, his deep breathing and hint of body heat -- felt secure. Like they had known each other for years. Like Damian had grown beside him, had watched him grow, had seen him fall and crumble and rise from the ashes again.  
  
Damian let himself lean back on his elbows, head tilted back to look at the sky above the manor, and let out a breath. The night air was warm and damp, the kind of damp that would surely produce dew drops in the morning. The smoke cut through the humidity until the cigarette had burned down to Jason's fingers, and the gunman was forced to discard it to the side. Damian was about to break the silence by scolding the man for littering, but kept his words to himself when the gunman sucked in a clean breath of air in preparation to speak. "Sorry for what happened to you."  
  
That was not what Damian was expecting, but he hid the surprise from his face with only a purse of his lips. "You'll have to be more specific in your pointless apology, Todd." He said, his words biting but his tone not as cold as it usually was when he was in the gunman's presence.  
  
"Dying." He said in a plain tone, before running his fingers across his cheek, where stubble was beginning to grow in the late hours of night. "It sucks. So sorry you had to deal with it."  
  
"Tt, please." Damian scoffed at the notion, even though he knew it was rude to dismiss the moment he was sharing with Jason. "It was a necessity, and a temporary problem." Temporary. Death, the ultimate permanence, was temporary for him, for the both of them. At least the first time it was.  
  
"There was nothing temporary about it, demon." Jason's words had a bit of bite in them, making Damian's brow twitch at his comeback. "Don't pretend you don't still dream of it. Of dying. Of that pain. Of the- ... never mind."  
  
"Of the what?" Damian asked, head tilted to the side. Jason was right about the first two things. He often lost himself to nightmares of dying at the hands of the Heretic, of his mother, his grandfather, of the pain ripping through him as he lost his life. But what was it Jason held back from him?  
  
A slow pause, silence lingering between them like a thin spider web fragile enough to tear with a gust of wind. "The loneliness." Jason spoke, eyes not meeting Damian's, his eyes instead gazing out at the yard.  
  
It was then that the younger Robin understood why Todd had withheld that bit. When Damian died, he wasn't alone. He died protecting Dick, with his father running towards him as fast as he could. When his life ebbed from his veins, when his heart stuttered in a final lurch in his chest, he was surrounded by people desperate to save him. Jason, on the other hand, had been torn from his mother and died under the rubble of a warehouse, weight crushing down on his already broken body until his life abandoned him. Alone.  
  
Damian was silent as he looked down at his fingers, chewing on words in his mouth. For once, he was at a loss of what to say. Normally he'd say whatever formed on his tongue, but he didn't want to break this gentle tendril of relation between him and Todd. He didn't know why, but he actually found himself craving more words with the man, the only other person who understood how cold and painful it was to die. "I know they're my family." When words were spoken, it came from Jason, drawing Damian's gaze where he met the teal gaze of the older man. "But sometimes, it's hard to remember that."  
  
He remembered back to the conversation in the garage, and Damian realized the man was explaining himself now, so he kept himself quiet and waited for more words from the Red Hood. "When I came back from the dead, I watched them. They had moved on. They were healing. They had lost me and they mourned and then continued on. But when we lost you, babybat, B, he… he couldn't heal. You were his son, his real son, his flesh and blood and heart. When you died, you took a part of him with you. You took a piece of everyone I think." He mulled over his words thoughtfully, eyes examining bits of Damian's young face, like he wanted to remember how he looked now, still so young. "I was bitter at first. Not just because they needed you so much, but because another Robin was lost. You were so young. You didn't deserve that Dami, you did everything right, you were a good Robin. But you still died. I had proof that even the best of Robins could die, and it crushed me."  
  
Damian's brow scrunched together, his confusion clear in his eyes as he processed the information. He knew that everyone blamed Jason for his own death when he was a Robin, but he never thought that the gunman actually did too. He had no idea that Jason thought he had failed, that it was his fault he had died, that he had asked for it in some way. Every time Damian cruelly teased him about his death and the gunman would reply with a snappy comeback, the youngest Wayne thought it was clear that it wasn't actually the truth. Jason had been doing his job as a hero when he died. "So you fought at Apokolips for the family? So that they could have me back?" He asked, the information still swirling around his head.  
  
Todd chuckled again, like he had back in the garage, deep and lazy and guttural. "At first, that's why I thought I was fighting. But it didn't take long for me to realize I was fighting for you. You deserved another chance, babybat. You deserved to live, more than anything else. So just, be careful with life this time around. Our family needs you."  
  
That wasn't the last of their rooftop meetings. They continued them throughout the following months, eventually using them to expand each other's horizons. Jason would bring Damian literature that he found interesting, to which the younger would of course insult and sneer at, but still read. Some nights Damian would bring his sketchbook up while Jason enjoyed a cigarette, and the young Wayne would draw the landscape view from the roof, and the occasional sketch of the gunman beside him. They'd banter, mostly meaningless. Damian critiquing Jason's recent fights, with Jason rebutting by explaining his sexual relationship with Tim until Damian was gagging and smothering the older man with his hands.  
  
"Why Drake?" It was a chilly night, the air was drier than usual, and Jason was watching the sky when Damian broke the silence. The gunman glanced away from the expanse of smoggy sky to look at the youngest Robin, and quirked his brow in a silent question. "I mean, why… why are you, you know, _with_ him?"  
  
The questioning look was replaced with one of humor as the blue-green gaze returned to scanning the sky above them. "I thought you didn't like to hear about me and babybird." He sneered, making Damian want to shove him off the roof and let him fall. How dare he mock his innocent curiosity?  
  
"It just doesn't make any logical sense." The Wayne boy defended himself as he scuffed his sneaker into the tiles of the roof. "You despised him when you first came back, from what I've gathered. He is insufferable, he never admits when he's wrong, he always-"  
  
Jason cut him off with a clearing of his throat, even though the man knew how much Damian hated to be interrupted. "Not much in life makes sense in this world, babybat." He spoke calmly, gently, like just the thought of the pompous Drake made him relaxed. "But he does. He makes sense to me."  
  
Damian held back a snarl, knowing it would only earn him a glare from Jason, maybe even a slap upside the head. "Tt. I still think he's nonsensical."  
  
"Then don't date him, batbrat." Jason laughed, clear and loud, the kind of laugh that made Damian feel like he was a part of the gunman's family. He liked it.  
  
He actually liked feeling like Todd was his brother, despite how snappy he was and how quick he was to anger, despite his terrible jokes and how he held things out of Damian's reach whenever he could. Jason was someone the youngest Robin could go to when his fingers were twitching in memories of his death, he was someone who would be there when he called in the dreary hours of morning, afraid to go back to sleep. And he would take Damian to the roof, giving him the vegetarian taco he picked up on his way over, and just sit with him in silence until the boy could tell the difference between shadows and memories. He'd never ask him about the dreams, he'd never pester him for sharing, never forced him to heal. He just made his presence known with stories of his adventures and sat with him until Damian knew he was safe enough to crawl back into his bed and sleep until it was time for breakfast, or lunch depending on how long patrol had been that night.  
  
That was the only conversation Damian brought up with Jason about his relationship. He knew he'd never understand the draw for the Red Hood to the Red Robin. He never understood how Drake was able to capture Todd's attention with as little as a smile, how they could be across a room from each other and yet a third party would feel like they were interrupting an intimate moment if they intruded. How Drake would say something insignificant and Todd would look ready to sweep him away and kiss him out of pride. It wasn't that Damian hated Drake, not anymore at least, he just didn't understand how Todd was so enraptured by his replacement. How was it that Drake helped him? Was it at night, when Todd was plagued by his own nightmares? Did slender fingers intertwine with calloused hands, did his arrogant lips kiss the knots out of his muscles until he could remember he was allowed to breathe again? Or was it because Drake was so unable to take care of himself with sleep and basic necessities, that it gave Todd the distraction in taking care of someone other than himself? Of saving someone who needed it? Who needed him?  
  
Red Robin wasn't here now, though. It was just Red Hood and Robin, while the rest of the batfamily was distracted by the League. Damian knew the plan was supposed to leave him cornered by himself, but they had a tendency to forget how Jason's loyalty would always lie with the bats, not the League. They gave him an out for the attack, told him to leave the city and he wouldn't be killed. His response to that was to shoot the messenger between the eyes before he ran to find the Demon's Head and try to cut the attack off at the source. Which left him fighting beside Robin, the two of them working together almost as well as Dick and Damian. Almost.  
  
"You had your chance to escape, Jason!" Damian could hear his mother yell over the blanket of rain falling over them. He could hear their fighting, but was too distracted by his grandfather to watch the clashing of blades. Jason's guns had been knocked from him in the beginning of battle, leaving him with his knife, a weak weapon to bring to a swordfight. Still, he held his own, utilizing his training from both the League and the Batman. Both the Robins did. "You had your chance for so much more than this! For all of this! You had your chance to become the Batman!" His mother was taunting the antihero, but Damian was not worried. She did not know what to say to really cause Jason to lose himself, she did not know his weaknesses as she used to. He had grown too much since she had her claws in him.  
  
"Eh, the cape didn't really match my guns." Jason rebutted as Damian blocked a blow from Ra's and threw his body against the immortal man. "I think I'm alright with the gig I've got."  
  
Damian could hear his mother snarl in disapproval before she threw her all into the battle at hand. Damian tried not to think of how they fought. He didn't want to imagine the outcome of a fight like this. His mother had him killed, sure, she had manipulated him since birth and only grew him as a pawn to the League, but she was his mother. Jason was a killer, but Damian had to trust the gunman would stay the killing blow for his own sake. So long as the youngest Wayne could keep Ra's busy, he didn't worry about Jason. The guy was impossible to kill, especially after the first time he had died.  
  
"It is such a shame you turn your back on your birthright, Damian." Ra's snarled as he recovered from a brief stumble with a swipe of his blade, his hundreds of years of training as clear as ever. But Damian wouldn't lose, his purpose was better than the League's. Despite the blood mixing with the rainwater, making the grip on his katana handle weak, he would win. "You have so much potential, and you squander it!"  
  
"Silence your pointless words and fight!" Damian spat back, not one for pointless banter during a match, not like all the Robins before him.  
  
A dark chuckle managed to ring out despite the rain pouring around them, and Ra's let his wrist turn with a flourish as he bowed mockingly. "As you wish, Damian." And then, a brief pause before the man was lunging back into the battle with a renewed vigor that nearly took Damian's breath from him.  
  
"Status and location!" A voice called into the communicator, and Damian recognized it as Red Robin's. Had he finished dispatching his enemies, or was he just getting worried and checking in? Surely not on Damian, the boy held back a sneer, but on Hood of course. Had he no faith in the gunman?  
  
"Status is- aah fuck- peachy as ever." Hood responded as he danced with Talia, who was no longer dallying on idle conversation. "Location is… a roof? It's raining and we seem to be fairly high up."  
  
"Hood, this is no time for jokes!" Red Robin would sound mad if he wasn't so out of breath and desperate. "Turn on your distress signal so we can find you!"  
  
"As soon as I have a free hand, I'll be sure to do so, prettybird." Hood's voice was pushed out through clenched teeth, and Damian glanced over to see that was because he was pressed against a wall with Talia trying to force his own blade into the break between his armor and his hood, clean into his neck.  
  
"MOTHER!" Damian yelled out at her, but she didn't so much as glance in his direction, instead putting all of her strength into trying to drive the tip of the blade into Jason's exposed throat. It was then that Hood gave up his footing for a strike, and slammed his helmeted head forward to crack against Talia's forehead. The knife cut into his throat, just shy of hitting an artery, before he was able to regain control of his blade and dive back into battle with a renewed strength.  
  
Damian hadn't realized how terrified he had been until Ra's was using his frozen state to his advantage, striking him across the face with a swift punch, and then landing a kick in the chest to send Robin flying back. The boy hit the ground hard, his air leaving his lungs in a grunt, Red Robin yelling in his ear for someone to turn on their damned distress signals. He tried to regain himself before Ra's could gain more ground, and tapped the badge on his chest to finally obey Drake's desperate orders as he went for his katana with the other hand.  
  
Unfortunately, Damian failed to look up to avoid the boot that crunched down on his hand as he reached out for his sword, and his yell of pain was cut off by a swift kick across his face. The force knocked him further from his weapon, and the explosion of pain across his temple shot his vision from white to black. Had the infernal rain that he had been cursing earlier not been falling across his face, patterning across his flushed and aching skin, he was sure he'd be out cold for hours. But instead the wetness prevented the blackout, leaving him in darkness for only a second or two before his bleary eyes were cracking open to the cold, bloody world.  
  
His hand was broken, cracked and useless, and his other arm was still bleeding steadily among the raindrops. He bit back a groan as he tried to get himself on his feet again, but all he could manage to do was lift his head before the dizziness floored him again. He could hear heavy drums coming closer to him, but the addition of wet splashing sounds made Damian realize they were not drums; they were heavy boots running over. "Robin!" A deep voice, coming from both his ear and his nearby surroundings, made him turn his head to see Red Hood running over, knife gripped tightly in his hand, watery blood staining his chest from the wound to his throat.  
  
The man didn't make it close enough, Ra's stepped in to block his path. Jason didn't skip a beat in launching a kick at him, one that glanced the immortal man's side before Talia was swinging at him from behind with her sword. Damian was about to call out to Hood to watch his back, but the man was trained, and blocked it with a gauntlet before slicing at her with his knife. There was something different about his fighting now. Like a switch was flipped now that Damian was down and out for the moment. His slashes were no longer aiming for shoulders and legs, they weren't honed in on maiming; they were kill strikes. He was now fighting for two lives, his and Damian's, and he wasn't going to risk it to save the enemies' lives.  
  
"Robin's down." Jason's voice was taut now, no longer reassuring jokes to Red Robin. It had changed to reports on the severity of the situation. "Bleeding pretty bad on his arm, concussion, broken hand." He reported, dodging a swing from Ra's to instead take a deep gash in the side from Talia.  
  
"Hood, what is your status?" Batman, deep and gravelly, hiding concern with a stone demeanor.  
  
"I can hold them off for give or take five minutes." Jason said, right before he took a severe cut across the chest, and then got run through the leg with Talia's blade. "O-or three. Three minutes."  
  
"Hold on Hood!" Drake, sounding panicked in his own special way, like he was holding onto composure by a shred. "I'm four minutes out, just a little longer!"  
  
"No sweat pretty bird." And there were the reassurances that Jason was so known for. He'd be the one to snap his neck and still try to literally shrug it off if it meant showing his family he was fine. A cold could floor him, make him write up his will, have him ready to dig his own grave. But fighting the Al Ghul's while running low on blood and energy? He'd play it off like he was just sparring with Alfred.  
  
Damian rolled himself to his side, wincing as the world spun beneath him, and tried to push himself to his feet. They were trying to corral Jason into a corner, trying to get him to prevent using his brute force to maintain distance. Unfortunately, Talia took a step in too soon, and Jason had an opening. One clear shot, knife swung upward, cut through her neck like it was nothing. It was his only option to escape the situation. And Damian could see, despite the blaring red helmet, the man's braced shoulders and proper footing meant he was going to do it. He was going to kill her.  
  
"Hood!" His voice was hesitant, pulled back- not as desperate as it had been when he had called out for his mother. But it was there, and Jason heard it. And unlike Talia, he paused. His head jerked in Damian's direction, so much hidden under that stupid helmet he donned while he fought.  
  
Damian could have sworn he imagined it. That it was just the worst case scenario playing out in his head, that it was some trick of the rain, or maybe his concussion. But the sound in the communicators was real. Jason’s breath escaped him in a sharp, choked sound of pain, the sword plunging horizontally into his abdomen, sliding through Kevlar like it wasn't even there. The real horror was his voice. Hearing the way his breath caught after that moment, the brief agony in a short, wordless speech. An attempt to take in breath, but it was wet, it was gurgled, like the blood was already sprouting up his throat and bubbling over his tongue. Time froze, rain droplets hanging in the air, not yet mixing with the blood that was escaping Jason's stomach and back. And then, like the crack of lightning across the sky, it ran normal again.  
  
Ra's cut through the armor, cutting open Jason's side as if he was made of smoke and the blade found no resistance. Blood spattered across the ground heavier than the rain, a deep crimson too heavy to be lightened by the pouring rain because there was just too much. A clatter of a knife hit the ground, and Damian was scrambling, ignoring the cracking bones in his hand, trying to get to Jason, trying to prevent the very outcome he had just witnessed unfold in front of him.  
  
Jason's voice strangled out a curse in the communicators as Damian watched the man pitch forward to fall onto his knees. Ra's and Talia stepped back, both grinning, Talia's one of sorrow and pity. But she said nothing, only followed her father as he turned on his heel to begin walking away from the scene. "Checkmate. To _both_ of my detectives." Ra's crooned in his toxic voice, though his message was already clear, and the price was dear. Their damage was done for the day.  
  
Damian reached Jason after stumbling on his feet, falling to his knees in front of the gunman to attempt to catch him on his way down. But the older man simply crumbled as Damian got to him, falling back onto the rooftop, trembling fingers fidgeting over his red helmet in an attempt to get it off. "C-can't… I can't…" He didn't want Tim to hear him like this. Damian didn't know how he knew it, but he just could sense that was why he was so desperate to remove the helmet.  
  
So Robin helped him, pulling it off and throwing it to the side so he could look down at the man's face. He didn't have the domino on today, too much of a rush to get out there to bother donning it. But that made it worse. Damian could see how pained his teal eyes were, could see the agony leaking into the oceanic hue and draining them of life. Replacing the fire there with an emptying grey. "Hood, don't you do this." Damian kept his voice as firm as he could, his gloved fingers trying to press over the wound to Jason's side. But he couldn't, the warmth of life spilling out, the blood was pooling around him, less like a slow ebb and more like a flash flood of crimson. "Hood, look at me. Jason, look at me!"  
  
"Heh." Weak, so weak, like he was debating whether to use his last breaths to speak or to cling for a few more seconds onto life. "C-called me by my f-first name." Lips were draining of color, teeth barely clenched, like he didn't even have the strength to grit them together.  
  
The communicators were silent- aside from the sound of choking pants from Drake as he was likely defying the laws of physics to get there as fast as possible. The other family members were likely doing the same, putting all of their efforts into the task of arriving at the location, to assess the damage and get Jason the medical attention he needed. Robin couldn't take the silence so he tore it off, sent it flying near the helmet. They probably all thought they could get there in the nick of time, sweep him away, save his life. They always got there in the nick of time, right? Well, most times they did. And even when they didn't, there was still hope. Damian and Jason were walking proof of that. But as if reading his mind, the second Robin's fingers found Damian's hand and rested over the boy's attempts to stop the gaping wound from bleeding. "I… I can't c-come back… n-not again… please." Why was his voice so weak? This wasn't Jason Todd, he was stronger than this- he could beat anything! "D-Dami…"  


The Robin boy bit down on his lip when he felt it trembling against his will, and reached up his good hand to peel his mask off. He didn't want Jason to be staring at Robin as he… as he lay here. He wanted him to look at his brother. "Just hold on you fool. You have to hold on, Father is on his way, a-and-" His voice faltered. Jason was smiling, crimson lining the crease where his lips met, and the younger boy knew he was smiling for Damian's sake. Always reassuring. Even when he was losing so much blood, when there was a wound that cut him from his spine outward, when his face was so pale, and the blood pooled in the corner of his lip before spilling down to roll down his cheek in a long, unbroken line of ruby. He was trying to reassure him. "Jason. Don't do this." A plea, as if by sheer willpower the man would stay with him. Be his brother for a while longer. Meet him on the roof and share in shitty novels and shallow discussions of death and the afterlife. Stick around to keep driving the family up the wall with jokes of 'I didn't die for this' and 'you're killing me; again.' Make him feel safe when the nightmares were too real, too cold, too suffocating. Who would bring him vegetarian tacos and tell him stories of his outlaw adventures, all exaggerated and superfluous but entertaining? Who would be there for him at any hour, smelling of cigarettes and leather and gunpowder and warmth?  
  
"T-tell Tim I…" He choked, the smile faltering, running out of time and he knew he couldn't deliver the message. Apologies, love, always and forever, broken promises. His weak gaze flashed through all of them, and Damian watched the reel as tears built up in his darker eyes. "I… I tried." It was all he could say, his smile broken in a weak spasm of pain, body trembling under Damian's fingers as he tried to keep the life in his brother's body.  
  
"I know, he knows, we all know, Jason, we know…" The young Robin blurted out, vision hazy with the rain, salty rain, running down his face where his lip was quivering and his body was leaning forward to apply more pressure. He was fading- his trembling was weaker, his eyes were growing duller than he had ever seen before. This was all wrong, there was supposed to be a grand rescue, there was always a grand rescue! "Todd, Jason, don't, not yet, you're not… y-you didn't fail!" He never got a chance to tell him. Never told him that the first time around, he hadn't failed anyone. He was being a hero, he died a hero, he didn't fail Bruce or his mother or the title. He honored them.  
  
Was he too late? Jason's eyes were half open, not quite focusing on Damian's face, not quite registering, but there was something still layered under the iris. There was fear. He was still there, because there was fear. The oceanic gaze was accompanied by fear and water- be it from rain or tears, Damian didn’t know. Would never know. Lips, wet with blood and rain, parted to try to speak, but Damian shook his head. "You didn't fail Jason, you didn't fail. You're a hero, and oh god you aren't a-alone, you're not alone you i-imbecile… we will always n-need you." He pitched his head forward, forehead resting on the middle of the red bat symbol splayed across his brother's chest, rain falling in sheets around them to dull the sound of the city moving around them. "We need you Jason..." He whimpered out, tears falling onto the wet red mark of his armor, and Damian could feel gloved fingers touch his hair, moving for a second longer, before the hand fell limp on Jason’s stomach and there was nothing.  
  
Too late. They were too late. Red Robin arrived first, running over, screaming Jason's name as if it would jolt him awake. Damian lifted his head as Tim approached, his eyes wet from tears and rain, hostility towards the third Robin replaced by crushing sorrow, even sympathy. The vigilante crumbled beside the body, and Damian struggled to his feet to give the space needed, ignoring how Jason's blood was running down his knees, soaked into his costume, filling his senses. He didn't look over as Tim draped himself over Jason, fingers clinging to his jacket, sobbing against his neck as he pleaded with him to come back. He would blame himself for this. Tim blamed himself for everything as it was, but this was Jason and he had been so close. He hadn't even been there to hold him in the end. He was already apologizing against Jason's cheek, the trail of blood now washed away by rain and Tim's begging words of regret, sorrow, agony. Damian wanted to say something, anything. Not your fault. He loved you. But he couldn't speak.  
  
Dick showed up next, skidding to a halt on the roof before he slowly began walking over. Tim was still crumpled over Jason, and Damian was standing a few paces away, hood up and covering his face in shadow, unbroken fist clenched at his side. His bleary eyes watched from the darkness under his hood as his big brother, his mentor, his best friend went to stand over Jason, before his knees shook once, like he was ready to collapse with him. But he didn't. He just watched him, his face, sky blue eyes searching for the stormy gaze he had known for so long. But his lids were closed and his face was still, and he was gone.  
  
When Bruce arrived, Dick was walking over to Damian to kneel in front of him, mask now discarded and blue eyes swimming with tears he refused to shed. He looked ready to say something, but instead he just wrapped his arms around Damian. As soon as the youngest Robin felt the weight of holding himself up be taken away from him, he collapsed forward limply. Tears leaked from his open eyes, his crying silent and his sorrow reverberating too deep in his bones to feel real anymore. Sadness shouldn't ache like this, it shouldn't be so consuming and exhausting, shouldn't feel so heavy and dark and agonizing. But it was. And Damian hated it.  
  
Damian didn’t remember much more from the rooftop. There was no conversation, none that was coherent. He heard his father walk hesitantly towards the scene, before decided against it, and walked away to stand at the ledge of the roof. And then his voice rang through the heavy air, but it was deep and clear, as if the rain could do little to muffle it. “We didn’t make it.” His father’s achingly sorrowful words to Pennyworth only solidified the reality of the situation, and drove the stake of agony further into Damian’s chest.  
  
Dick was the one to take Damian home, and the younger did little to argue the assistance. Under normal circumstances, he would have insisted that Grayson was smothering him, attempting to murder him with his presence, but this was far from their regular night. This night, they needed each other. Damian couldn’t stop replaying the scene over and over in his head- _what if he had gotten to his feet, what if he had thrown his sword, what if he had been stronger, what if he had done ANYTHING_ \- and it left him shaking. If he had been plagued by the guilt alone, he didn’t know what he would have done.  
  
It would take weeks for the family to regain some form of normality. Batman never left the city, not for a single night, but it would take Robin three nights to get back to patrol. Batgirl four days. Nightwing a week. And Red Robin buried himself in his work the moment Jason was cremated, staying in the manor so he wouldn’t have to go to an empty apartment. There were still echoes of grief lingering in the hallways, but it was collective, and much less daunting than the ghosts that would plague a lonely apartment.  
  
Two weeks after Jason’s death, Damian slipped out of the manor and went to the apartment where the man had lived with Tim, who hadn’t stepped foot in the place since that night. He snuck into the window, easily disabling the security; Jason had told him how one night, under the offer of visiting whenever he had a nightmare and the gunman wasn’t answering his phone. _“It would probably be because I’m sleepin’ like the dead.”_ He had said, winking at the dead joke as he nudged the youngest Wayne with his elbow. Well he wasn’t answering his phone now, so here Damian was.  
  
Damian looked around the bedroom, eyes lingering on the bed, where the sheets were still tossed back and crumpled over the mattress. Jason hadn’t had a chance to make it up before he left for the fight. That must have been bothering him. Damian knew how immaculate the moron could be- one time he even scolded Damian for not making his bed. But here his bed was, completely unmade, a mess of cold sheets and lonely pillows.  
  
Damian wanted to sit down on the bed, wanted to see if the smell of smoke and leather were stitched into the linen, but he had a feeling they weren’t. He figured the scent that was draped over the bed was of his skin, his shampoo and his soap, and those were scents that belonged to Tim. So he turned his head away from the empty bed- chest aching at how absolutely lonely this room was- and let his tired eyes fall on the closet.  
  
The door was ajar, so Damian felt like it was an invitation for him to curl his fingers around the knob and pull it open completely. Clothes were hung up neatly, even Drake’s, which meant that Jason had was in charge of laundry and putting things away. Or maybe he would just go through and fix the mess that Drake would leave in his wake. Either way, the thought of Jason doing something as mundane as organizing a closet made the youngest Robin feel sick to his stomach.  
  
He reached out to run his fingers over one of the leather jackets that Jason would wear out on patrol, an ache forming behind his eyes that signaled that his tears were trying to be made known. But he refused to cry anymore. It hurt too much, and he was sick of hurting, he was sick of suffering. He scrunched up his face, willing himself to keep it together, and bunched his fingers in the sleeve of the tan jacket.  
  
“Stupid.” Damian forced out through his clenched teeth, eyes averted down to the floor of the bedroom. He felt the hot burn strengthen despite his angry word, so he tipped his head back as if it would help. “You already died once. Was the first time not enough for you?!” He spat out, half expecting an answer to come from the empty room behind him. Hell, he hoped for one. “We _need_ you! You… IDIOT! You weren’t supposed to LEAVE!”  
  
He didn’t think as he tore the jacket off the hanger and flung it across the room. Nor as he did so with the rest of Jason’s things- his boots, his pants, his holsters, his shirts, everything. Tears streamed down his face despite his previous efforts to keep them at bay, and when there was nothing left to throw, he collapsed to his knees. Everything was ripping apart at the seams, all of the agony that was building up was tearing out of him in sobbing screams of enraged sorrow. The guilt was overwhelming, and it made him quake with anger. He hated how it was his fault, how Jason’s blood was on his hands, still feeling wet with rainwater and thick crimson. It was his call that made the gunman stall in his attack, it was his fault that Ra’s made a sheath for his sword in Jason’s body.  
  
“I hate you… I _hate_ you…” Who he was referring to, he didn’t know at this point. But the sobs were filled with such raw pain that it would hurt for him _not_ to say them. He found himself crawling across the floor to where he had strewn a majority of the clothes, and curled up on top of them, fingers bunching in the leather of the jacket that he had first grabbed in his examination of Jason’s things. “You weren’t supposed to leave us. You weren’t supposed to leave _me_ , you’re my _brother_ , you st-stupid…” He couldn’t finish his words, they got choked in his throat as he closed his eyes and just tried to block it all out.  
  
He didn’t know what point he fell unconscious, tears drying on his face and sobs leaking away to soft, wet breaths of sleep. But the sound of the window sliding open again tried to rouse him from the warmth of his slumber. He peeked an eye open just barely, seeing a two legs clad in dark costume. No boots, just a dark one-piece with a splash of blue across the chest and down the arms, which meant only one person. He chose to ignore it and let his aching eyes close again, wanting to lull himself back into the throes of sleep by the smell of smoke and leather.  
  
“Dami…” The soft voice of his eldest brother floated into his head, but he could not distinguish whether it was external or within his own dreaming. When he found himself stirring from sleep again, he was moving, being carried by a pair of strong yet lean arms. But the smell was still there- the source was the leather jacket draped over his body. So he let out a soft hum and turned his head into the warm chest that he was curled against, and drifted back into his sleep with welcome arms.  
  
He knew that Jason would have made fun of him for letting Dick carrying him home, but the thought of it only made him feel warm inside. In his state of being half-asleep, he looked forward to the gunman’s taunting words of babybat, the weight of reality not affecting him as it had hours earlier. However, when he fully woke later, draped gently in his bed with the jacket laid out next to him, the sting of truth slithered back into his mind, and he just lay there and allowed it to.  
  
He was no fool. Jason was gone. He was dead and gone, and wasn’t coming back this time around. But that didn’t mean he was forgotten, or that he was any less needed than he was when he was alive.  
  
The youngest Robin grabbed the jacket and began climbing out the window of his room, shimmying along the ledge until he could climb up to the alcove where the crow used to sit. He’d have to buy birdseed later, maybe he could get it to come back. He rummaged around the inside pockets of the jacket, finding the pack of cigarettes and the lighter right where Jason had always kept them. He could hear the gunman’s scolding tone still in his head as if he was still here. _“Don’t be eyein’ my cigs, kid. Smoking is fuckin’ nasty, and I’ll be damned if I let another Robin pick up the awful habit.”_ But he didn’t bring the cigarette to his lips as he lit the end of it, he just rested it carefully on the tiles of the roof and let it burn down on its own.  
  
With the steadily burning cigarette tinging the air with the smell of smoke, and the jacket bundled in Damian’s lap, the boy could close his eyes and pretend to feel Jason’s presence beside him. Long moments of silence stretched out in the quiet air, just as it did when the older man was alive, before Damian let out a long breath. “You took a piece of everyone, Todd. Was that what you wanted? You proved yourself wrong, which is no surprise, considering how moronic you truly are.”  
  
There was nothing but biting silence, cold and lonely, but Damian didn’t open his eyes. Not yet. He could picture Jason sitting there beside him, pulling the cigarette away from his lips to exhale a long, white cloud into the heavy air, a sad smirk flitting over his mouth. _“You’ll heal, babybat. You’re strong enough.”_  
  
Damian squeezed his eyes closed tighter, wanting to just hang onto the memory of how raspy and deep Jason’s voice was, how it curled around his words like he was pulling someone in closer. “And if I don’t?” He asked, his voice getting choked, like his throat was refusing to continue on with the illusion.  
  
A chuckle, rolled out from the depths of his chest, fingers tapping on the cigarette to let ash fall to the roof’s shingles. Dark hair, with the stark white streak, being lightly caressed by the breeze that ran across Damian’s skin and made him want to shiver. Instead he just pulled the jacket closer to his stomach, curling his legs a bit tighter towards his body as he waited for the intangible response by the illusion created by a grieving mind.  
  
_“Then you can always meet me on the roof.”_


End file.
